Lavender and Cocoa
by SolidSapphire1018
Summary: Chleo Johnson is the neice of BAU Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. She becomes a member of the field team quickly after Hotch pulls some strings. Upon meeting the team, she's fascinated by Spencer Reid. It's probable that he is fascinated in return. M for lemon
1. Chapter 1

My apartment; a quaint amount of space I woke up in every morning. This one was no different, except my cell phone had suddenly become my alarm for the day. I slid my hand off the mattress of my double bed and onto the solid brown nightstand at my side. My fingers tapped the wood until they wrapped around my singing, vibrating phone.

"Chleo?" came the familiar stern voice through the speaker. "It's Hotch." I figured he'd introduced himself as that too many times before.

"Uncle Aaron?" My voice cracked. "I don't remember you being such a morning person." I rubbed the leftover eyeliner from the previous night off my eyelids.

"You'd be a morning person too if you had a new case to investigate."

I sat straight up in bed. "Give me forty-five minutes?"

"Thirty."

"Deal," I said and hung up immediately. I'd been trying to get a job at the BAU ever since I'd graduated college, 5 years ago. I was nineteen.

Really, it's not that extreme. I only skipped two grades, but I'd taken so many Advanced Placement courses that I was a year ahead's worth of college credits. I wasn't a genius. My IQ was 152. Charts on Google will tell anyone that's in the 99.24 percentile. However, I've associated with higher. I didn't have any freakish gifts like speed-reading or the ability to count how many toothpicks are in a box 3 seconds after they spill onto the floor in front of me.

There were plenty of things in the world I still didn't understand and could not do or figure out. I was just good at school, and now I was good at profiling people; part of the reason Uncle Aaron saw fit to get me the job.

I jumped out of bed and sprinted to the bathroom. After a 5-minute shower and 5 minutes of drying my hair, I pushed the short, brunette strands into a ponytail. Then I took it down again. I looked better with it shaped around my face. I spread some new blue eyeliner across my lids and dashed to the closet. Formal attire: black pants, cute- yet walkable- heels, and a deep purple, v-neck sweater. I had 15 minutes, and I hadn't brushed my teeth. I swore under my breath and wasted 3 more minutes to clean my mouth.

Digging my keys out of my purse, I jammed my index finger into the "basement/garage" button in the elevator. Two more minutes wasted. I jogged in the heels to my silver Stratus and tossed my purse into the passenger seat.

I sped out of the garage and out of the apartment parking lot. Luckily, it only took me eight minutes to get to "work". I knew exactly where to find Uncle Aaron. Even better; I nearly slammed right into him in my haste.

"Chleo!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening a bit.

I smiled. "Twenty-nine minutes and still forty-two seconds to spare," I greeted.

He didn't say anything- but smiled- for a moment.

I caught my breath. "So, what were you saying about a case on the phone?"

"In short," he began. "The BAU is impressed with your resume and want to see how you do under the pressure of a real case, despite your age."

I blinked. "My age?"

He chuckled. "You'll be beating Reid by three years for the title of youngest member of the team."

The whole time we'd been talking, I'd followed Uncle Aaron down a hallway, through a desk area and up some stairs. He opened up a door to one of the briefing rooms just as I asked, "Who?"

As I looked into the room, I suddenly could feel the pressure my uncle had been referring to. There were five people just staring at me. Two guys; three women. Two of the women were smiling at me, and one was looking away, talking to one of the guys. The other held a piece of paper in his hands and was the only one standing up in front of the whiteboard in the front of the room. He was looking at me inquisitively. We made eye contact, and it made me blush.

"Introductions," started Uncle Aaron after clearing his throat. He circled around the table, starting with the woman nearest me. "This is our Tech Analyst Penelope Garcia, Special Agent Emily Prentiss, and Special Agent Jennifer Jareau," he paused and gestured to the black officer. "That's Special Agent Derek Morgan, and Special Agent and Genius Dr. Spencer Reid." I nodded to all of them and smiled in greeting. He moved back next to me and gestured toward me. "Team, this is Chleo Johnson. Consider her a Special Agent, but an…intern, per say."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Thank you for the introduction…Hotch."

A smile curved onto his lips. He sat down in one of the chairs, and I sat down next to him. I had no clue what to do at the moment, but I figured that I could just follow what my uncle did for now. Emily Prentiss was the first to speak to me. "So, do you two know each other?"

I glanced over at Hotch, trying to think of him more as a superior than just my uncle now. He was looking at a file and responded after a moment without looking up. "She's my niece."

If I didn't know any better, which I don't think I did, I would've said that the room had gotten quieter than it had when we walked in. There was definitely an identifiable awkward silence. I swallowed hard. The man named Spencer Reid spoke up next. "How old are you?"

Something about the question made me blush. I didn't know why. "Twenty-four," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

Penelope Garcia was next. She gasped lightly, "I know who you are; I saw your resume. The only time I'd ever seen as many academic awards was when Spencer got here." She nodded her head toward him. I smiled a bit, finally relaxing as a conversation started.

Derek Morgan spoke. "So, looks like Reid's got some competition in the brains department?"

I laughed a little, remembering the things Hotch had told me about Spencer Reid. "I really am not that brilliant; I was just good at school. There was nothing I liked better than being able to disappear in a history book or solve a quadratic equation for 'x'." For references to advanced classes, those were pretty easy. But everyone on the team looked at me as if I'd just spoken Japanese, except Spencer. I blushed.

"Reid will be working with her on this case. I figured one genius and another half-genius could work well together," said Hotch, still not looking up from the file yet.

I began to feel extremely uncomfortable again.

"Sounds great."

My head snapped up from my folded hands in my lap. Reid had said it. He was smiling at me, and even though I knew he was just doing it because he knew I was uncomfortable, I smiled back.

When I was assigned a desk, I stuck my purse under it and sat in the chair. I rubbed my eyes tiredly and sat back up straight, suddenly thinking a lot about coffee. The briefing had been about a triple homicide that had occurred the night before, following other murders in the past few weeks. We knew the profile of the UNSUB already and had warned the local police. It was a man, believably Caucasian. He was large and capable of dragging bodies in specific positions for the authorities to find looking as if they were spending time as a family. It gave me the shivers to think about it, but nevertheless I had listened for the rest. He worked with tools and was good with his hands, and was believed to drive some sort of pick-up truck.

Spencer and I were in charge of locating the UNSUB, based on any evidence gathered. There wasn't really anything we could do at the moment; we had no leads. So far, it was a boring case. Secretly, I'd been hoping we'd get to go somewhere on the jet today. It would have been an exciting first case to be working on.

"Do you want some coffee?"

My head perked up from my hands, and I looked over at Spencer. "I was just thinking about it actually."

He nodded. "I figured."

I nearly laughed. "That good at figuring people out, are you?"

Spencer smiled a little. "That and the fact that you were rubbing your eyes, and there's eyeliner left on your top eyelids from yesterday."

I furrowed my eyebrows at him. "I see."

Suddenly, he looked away. A bright pink color covered his cheeks. "Sorry, I tend to overanalyze sometimes."

"I know what you mean."

He looked back up again, and this time he moved his chair over to my desk. "What's your IQ?"

I answered without missing a beat. "152. Yours?"

"187."

My eyes widened. I'd met other people in the past with IQ's higher than mine, but never _that _high. "Really?" I propped my elbow on the desk and rested my head in my hand. "That's fascinating." His chocolate brown eyes locked on mine.

"I can read 20,000 words per minute and have an eidetic memory," he said, folding his arms on my desk. "And graduated high school at age 12."

I'm glad I'd given him the chance to brag; he deserved it. "Wow. I was a freshman at the age of 12, and I took AP courses for nearly all of my high school years, but that's about it. I skipped a year of college and got a PhD in psychology. That's how I made it here."

He smiled. "That's pretty extraordinary as well."

I shook my head. "It's nowhere near a photographic memory!" I exclaimed.

His smile lingered, and the small breath of a quieted laugh exited his mouth. "Not many people find it that extraordinary."

I smiled at him. "That's because they don't know the statistics of someone born with the kind of talent we- _you_- have." I corrected myself quickly. He took notice; I knew he did, but he didn't say anything.

Instead, a tan file folder was plopped down in front of us. "Regis, Kelly, got a new crime scene to look at," said Morgan, grabbing his jacket from his desk. I glanced at Reid, and the two of us shot up from our chairs and followed him.

"Reid, Chleo, you're with me," called Hotch. I kept reminding myself to remember him as that from now on. _Hotch, Hotch, Hotch, not Uncle Aaron. Hotch._

I smiled at Reid, "Shotgun." And followed my uncle out into the parking lot. It felt weird to be grabbing a real gun after months of only training with one filled with blanks. I felt as if I moved my fingers wrong, it would go off in my hand without my consent. "How long does holding a real gun feel awkward?" I asked anyone, absentmindedly before we loaded into two cars.

"The feeling goes away after a week or two," answered Morgan, smiling. I laughed a bit.

In the car, Reid and I received more information on exactly what we were going to see. "Family of three; mother, father and son, found dead at the dinner table. Meal appears to be half eaten, and the bodies are in such exact positions that passing neighbors literally thought they were in the middle of dinner."

I imagined how creeped out I'd be if I passed a family dinner then later learned they were all dead. "What did the other families consist of?" I asked, looking toward my uncle.

"Same thing; mother, father, and child. All of the families are in positions as if spending time with each other; eating dinner, watching a movie, posing for a photo, etc."

I thought about that. "Is it possible the unsub is picturing these as the family he had?"

Reid leaned forward to talk between the two of us. "I think it might be more of the fact that he's picturing the family he _wishes _he had. It's possible that he could have been abused as a child whether mentally, physically, sexually, etc."

I peered at him. "That would make sense, especially if he was an only child. It would go with the fact that the families only have one child in them."

"I'll make a note to tell the local police."

It sounded like a breakthrough in the car, but really, we had nothing. We knew he was a built white guy with a pick-up truck, not really enough to put out an APB on. Nevertheless, we entered the crime scene determined to find something.

The front door was wide open. A few police officers stood by behind crime scene tape while we entered the house. Spencer handed me a pair of blue latex gloves to put on to examine the kitchen table where the three family members sat perfectly.

Only the little boy was slouched down onto the table, his arms splayed onto the wood with his eyes closed and his head near the dinner plate. His fingers were open next to a cup of juice, as if previously wrapped around it. A sudden lump entered my throat. He'd been severely beaten; yet he was so little I had to kneel down to match his height in the chair. I examined him the best I could without moving the body. He had bruises on his head and neck. Any more that may have been under his clothes, I couldn't see. Prentiss took pictures of the scene while Spencer and I were examining. "Is it alright if I move the body by now?" I asked anyone who would answer.

"I've got all the photos I need; go ahead," said Prentiss. I nodded and reached for the boy's head with both hands, planning to sit him up straight.

I didn't realize what my right thumb had felt until I could count the slight "_thump, thump"_ beats coming from his neck. My eyes widened, and I gasped. "We need an ambulance!" I cried out the front door, picking up the boy and laying him flat on the ground.

"Chleo, what are you doing?" asked Spencer, abandoning the parents' bodies.

"He has a pulse," I said, moving my hair behind my ear to listen for the boy's breath. There was none. He didn't have enough time to wait, especially after the amount of time he'd been left here. "He's alive; we need a medic now!"

I clinched the boy's nostrils shut and breathed into his mouth. It was unsanitary to do so, but what did I care? It was a child. I breathed twice, and then switched to chest compressions, pressing a hand down on his chest to keep the blood pumping from his heart. "One, two, three," I whispered to myself. "Four, five." I breathed twice again. My hand was firmly on his chest again before he started coughing uncontrollably. Just as I heard sirens coming up the street, I lifted him into a sitting position, making sure to keep his airway open. "Hi, sweetie, you're going to be okay now."

The boy wasn't any older than six or seven. When the medics rushed in, I let them take him and put him on a stretcher. Right before they put a breathing mask over his face, he muttered, "Thank you."

For a moment, I just knelt there on the floor. I couldn't even recall how I'd known what to do. I'd learned how to do CPR back in the ninth grade in Health class but had never used it until now. I looked up at Spencer and Prentiss, who were just staring at me. None of us said anything. Hotch and Morgan suddenly came running in.

"What happened?" ordered Hotch.

Spencer answered. "The little boy was alive; Chleo started CPR and got him breathing again."

My uncle looked at me and nodded curtly. "Nice job," he said.

I smiled a bit. "Thanks." Spencer reached out a hand and helped me up. "Do you think the unsub knew the boy was alive when he left?"

Spencer shook his head. "No, he would have finished him off. It doesn't seem plausible."

I brushed a hand through my hair. "Well, I think we should follow him to the hospital. Maybe when he's conscious, we can get a physical description."

"Good idea," chimed in Hotch. "Here," he handed the keys to Spencer. "You two go; I'll go back with Morgan and get information about the bodies from the ME, see if we can get any new leads from Garcia."

Spencer drove to the hospital, and I had a map of the city in my lap. "According to the locations of the other murders, the pattern seems to be forming a circle. It seems too obvious that he'd be located somewhere in the center of it, don't you think?"

He glanced at the map quickly while driving and then looked back at the road. "It's possible he doesn't know that he's doing it."

I scoffed. "Well then that's a pretty big coincidence, which is something I really don't believe in."

He smiled; I quickly realized the two of us had been making each other do that a lot lately. We pulled into the hospital parking lot and let a valet take the car to get parked. "Wait a second," I said. "Do we know the boy's name?"

Spencer took a peek at the file he was holding. "Jimmy Collins, son of Debra and Jonathon."

I nodded as we walked up to the front desk of the hospital. "Where can we find the room of Jimmy Collins?"

A heavy-set, red haired woman in a nurse's uniform adjusted her glasses and looked up the name on her computer. "He just went into recovery; room 314."

I smiled. "Thank you." Spencer and I walked quickly to the room. I knocked on the door, and a nurse opened it. "Hi," I said, holding up my badge. "We're with the FBI, can we talk to Jimmy?"

She glanced at the badge and looked back at me. "Of course, but not for long. He needs to rest."

Spencer nodded. "We understand. We just have a few questions for him."

The nurse walked out and shut the door after we were in the room. The boy, Jimmy, had a handheld videogame with him, probably given by the nurse. I felt bad. He had no one here for him. "Hi Jimmy, do you know who I am?"

He looked up at me and didn't say anything, but nodded. "You helped me breathe," he muttered.

I breathed in and swallowed. "Yes, and we need to ask you a few questions. Do you remember what happened?"

Again, he nodded, but didn't elaborate.

"Can you tell us?" Spencer pressed on, gently.

Jimmy didn't look up at us. "We were eating, and a man just came in the house. He hit Mommy, then Daddy, until they didn't hit back. He looked at me and started hitting me too. I bit him…" he trailed off. "I only remember seeing you then."

It was such a quick explanation; I was surprised he cooperated so fast. "Can you tell us what he looked like?"

Jimmy paused to think. "He had dark hair and a mustache and beard. He was tall."

It was hardly a description; any man could look tall to a six-year-old boy. "Do you know anything else? Anything specific? Eye color, or something?"

He thought again, and this time he didn't look up at Spencer or me. "He had a black mark on his hand," he said. "It was the black shape on a card."

"Black shape on a card? Like, a club? Or a spade?" I quickly rephrased my question to fit six year old language. "The one that looks like a clover? Or the one that looks like an upside-down heart?"

He nodded. "The upside-down heart."

I smiled. "That's perfect, Jimmy. That's great. You should get some rest, alright?"

Jimmy nodded, his mouth never moving from the constant frown on his face. "What do I do now?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

He looked away. "My mom and dad are gone… What do I do?"

I looked up at Spencer, who didn't say anything and also didn't look back at me. On the table next to Jimmy, I spotted a pen and paper. I ripped off a piece of the notepad paper. "Listen, Jimmy, I can't promise anything right now, but if you ever need anything, call this number. Alright?" I showed him the piece of paper with my cell phone number written on it.

He nodded and took it. I felt the lump in my throat again as his small fingers wrapped around it. "You'll answer?"

I smiled and took his hand. "I promise I will."


	2. UNSUB

Spencer spoke without his eyes leaving the road. "You're good with kids."

I smiled at him, lifting my chin off my hand, which was currently against the windowsill of the car. "Thanks."

He twitched his fingers on the steering wheel. I could tell he wanted to start a conversation. So I looked away and gave him a bit to think about some small talk.

"I didn't know Hotch had a sister," he said suddenly.

My head perked up again. Had he meant 'niece'?

Catching my silence, he clarified. "I mean your mom."

I nodded my head in understanding. "Oh." I bit my lip a little. "How'd you know he's my mom's brother?"

He smiled a bit and began to explain. "Well your last names are different, but you don't wear a wedding ring. I figured your name wasn't changed by marriage, meaning you most likely have your dad's name, which means your mom's last name was changed to his from 'Hotchner'."

His rambling made me giggle. It was nice, talking to Spencer, but I wasn't sure if I wanted him to know. Then again, the team did seem pretty close; trustworthy. The problem was: did I want to talk about it? I sighed. "Shelby." I nodded at Spencer's deduction. "That was her name."

He looked at me before focusing on driving again. "_Was_?"

I sighed again, quieter this time, and looked down at my hands. "My mom died. She was the youngest of her family. She committed suicide around the same time my Aunt Haley was killed. That's why I wasn't at her funeral. Otherwise, you guys might have met me a while ago."

The silence in the car grew denser. Then Spencer finally said, "I'm sorry."

All I could do was nod. "Me too."

We pulled up at the BAU, got out of the car, and entered the building in the same, dense silence. Everyone else had gotten back before us, which was expected since we'd gone to the hospital. Uncle Aaron approached Spencer and me.

"Did you get anything?"

I remembered suddenly what Jimmy had told us. "Um, we pretty much got it right. Tall, Caucasian, also with dark hair and a beard and mustache."

Hotch sighed. "Not much of a big difference."

"Wait," I called before he started to walk away. "He has a black spade tattooed on his hand."

"That's better."

"It's still not enough!" I said, brushing my hand through my hair. "Dark haired white guy with a tattoo is still really general." It had been hours, and we hadn't gotten anywhere. "We should just find the center of the geographic circle he's making and start there. Knocking on doors, or something."

Spencer was still looking at maps and the case file when he spoke. Everyone else was either on the phone or sorting through papers as well. Hotch was with Garcia, trying to find a match to the description of the UNSUB. "It would work, except he might get ahead of us if we go searching around town randomly. We'd never find him then."

I leaned forward in my chair and propped my elbows up on my desk, resting my chin in them. "What are we missing?" I asked anyone in general. I thought again through the crime scene and what Jimmy had told me. _Jimmy…_ "Spencer!" I cried suddenly; he looked up. "When the police are called, who usually checks the victims' vital signs?"

"The paramedic," he said. "Why?"

I figured it out piece by piece, forming the puzzle in my head. "Why was Jimmy left at the table if he had a pulse? Wouldn't the medic have checked them all?"

Spencer started to realize it too. Morgan and J.J. were staring at us both. "The UNSUB is a paramedic!" said Spencer. "He's cocky, or he wouldn't have left the scene unless he was sure he'd done the job, that they were dead."

I nodded furiously and made my way over to his desk. "Not just any paramedic either, one of the few that responded to the 911 call of _this_ case. We've got a general location, a physical description, and now an occupation."

Spencer turned to Morgan. "Would you like the honor of calling Garcia and Hotch?" But Derek was already dialing.

Just at that same moment, my cell phone started going off. I picked it up, flipping it open before I even looked at the caller identification. "Hello?" I said into the phone, still urging to hear news after what I'd discovered.

A strange noise was all that came from the speaker. I thought it was just static, but then I began to hear specific sounds. The breaking of glass and shuffling of fabric. Then came a voice. "Chleo, help me!"

I froze. "Jimmy?" I asked, just above a whisper. "What is it? What's going on?"

No answer. Only more noise, then screaming, and then nothing. Someone had hung up. Immediately, I shoved my phone in my pocket and grabbed my gun.

"What's going on?" J.J. asked. She and Spencer were staring at me.

"Someone needs me," I said, jogging to the entrance.

"Wait, you're just going to leave in the middle of your first case?" Morgan had just tuned back in after calling Garcia.

"We might be losing our only witness in the case!" I shouted to him from the door, pulling it open. I was just able to hear Morgan say something else before Spencer came jogging out after me. I looked back at him while walking to my car. "He's in trouble, Spencer."

He just crossed over to the passenger door. "I know; I was told to go with you."

I smiled a bit and unlocked the doors. Spencer got in and shut the door, and I barely gave him enough time to buckle the seat belt before speeding out of the parking lot.

The hospital was in absolute chaos. At least, the third floor was. There were nurses, doctors, police officers, and even patients gathered around room 314. I felt my fists clench and unclench as I walked toward them. Spencer was close behind me and spoke first when we were asked who we were.

"I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. This is Chleo Johnson," he said, gesturing to me. "We're with the FBI. We were here earlier. Could you tell us what happened?"

A doctor came up and answered our question. "One of the paramedics who came to the house wanted to visit the boy. By the time we got into the room, it was too late."

I got a horrible feeling; I hated that statement. "Too late?" In reply, the doctor led us into the room. The window on the door was shattered, as was the window to outside. Glass littered the floor, and the rest of the room came into view.

My heart sank. I felt like I was going to be sick. Jimmy was on the bed, his arms splayed at his sides. He was staring me right in the face; his little blue eyes open with fear. Blood covered the old bruises on his face, neck, and arms.

"He was beaten to death," muttered Spencer. I could feel him looking at me. I didn't say anything. I just turned around and flipped open my phone to call my uncle.

"Chleo?" he answered. "Where are you?"

"He's dead, Uncle Aaron," I whispered, my voice cracking a bit. However, I kept my composure for my dignity's sake.

"What are you talking about?"

I took a deep breath. "The boy from the scene. The UNSUB killed him in the hospital."

There was silence for a moment. I knew what Uncle Aaron was thinking about in that time. "Come back to the BAU. We've got a location."

I simply said, "Okay," and hung up. Spencer was suddenly beside me.

"What did he say?" he asked, knowing whom I'd called.

"He wants us back there," I replied, not completely looking at him. The both of us walked out of the hospital, leaving the scene to the police. Spencer held the main door open for me after we got back onto the first floor.

I got the car started a lot slower than I had on the way to the hospital. Unnoticeably, I sighed while driving out of the parking lot.

"You know there's nothing you could have done," said Spencer.

I nodded. "I know, and I know we can't save everyone. People die on this job; I know that. I just have to get used to it."

Spencer looked uncertainly at me; I could see it out of the corner of my eye. "You never have to get used to it," he muttered. "Just hold in the reaction until you find the guy who did it."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "_Guy_?"

He rolled his eyes and gave a small smile, a crook of the lips. "Guy, girl, hermaphrodite, whatever."

I couldn't help but laugh.

All serious once again, Spencer and I walked into the BAU. Hotch and the others were waiting for us, along with someone I hadn't met yet.

"Chleo, this is Special Agent David Rossi, he was away this morning when you arrived," explained Hotch. I nodded at the man. Dark hair, beard and mustache with kind eyes; he greeted me politely and shook my hand. 

"Heard you're related to Hotch," he said with a smile. I returned it.

"His favorite niece."

"You're my only niece," claimed Hotch. I nodded.

"Hence your favorite."

It wasn't seconds after that that Hotch took me aside after giving the others tasks to do. "What happened?" he asked.

I crossed my arms and sighed, feeling the light mood start to leave me. "The UNSUB must have known the boy was alive. He went to the hospital and finished him off."

He nodded. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm fine."

Hotch put his hand on my shoulder and led me back to the group. Even though we worked together, and I couldn't refer to him as such, Hotch was still my uncle. Even before a case, I came first, one of the things that worried him about me joining the team.

"Garcia's got an address," Morgan reported as soon as I sat down at my desk. I got ready to get back up again.

"You three stay here," Hotch ordered Spencer, J.J., and me. "J.J., Garcia needs help, and you two have done enough running around today."

"What else are we supposed to do?" I called after him.

"Paperwork," he called back. I rolled my eyes. The one thing that didn't excite me about this job. Nonetheless, I remained at my desk and grabbed the first tan file folder stacked on it. It was quiet in the office for a bit. I started tapping my fingers while I read. I saw Spencer look up at me out of the corner of my eye.

"Do you play cards?" he asked suddenly.

I looked up and noticed he was holding a red deck in his hand. "Poker, Blackjack, War, Speed, or Bullshit?" I asked him, my mouth twitching a little at the profanity-titled card game.

He smiled down at the deck and rolled his chair over to me as I cleared my desk off. "Poker," he said, dealing the River in the middle of us.

"Seven Card Stud," I noted the type of poker game. Spencer handed me two cards and gave himself the same. We didn't bet money because it actually was illegal to gamble outside a casino. Instead, we came up with another method of betting. I looked at the cards in my hand; a jack and an eight. Not bad; I had a face card, but it could have been better. "Starting bet?" I asked.

"One fact about yourself," Spencer replied.

"Alright," I nodded. "I'll call that."

He flipped the first card. We both took a few seconds to look at our hands. It was a nine. I kept my face clear of any signs, making sure not to tap my fingers, move my feet, bite my lip, or move my eyes anywhere else except the cards and the River. Playing cards with Spencer was not just the game of cards, it was a psychological game of not giving away our 'tells' or the things that give away our emotions. "Well?" I asked.

"I think I'm going to raise it to one secret," he replied.

I nodded. "Alright, I'll call that too." He flipped the second card. Seven. My hand could still straighten out. This time, I looked for anything Spencer did. I inspected his eyes, face, arms, and torso as he peered at his deck. Nothing. He was good. "One secret and a fact," I said, betting before him.

"Call," he said. He looked up at me. We both had a particular smile on our face, an intimidating, challenging one. He flipped the next card. Four. That didn't help me at all. I nearly bit my lip. However, there were still two more cards in the River. I had a chance.

"Raise?" he asked. I shook my head. Spencer flipped the fourth card. King. I swallowed. I had one more shot to get a straight; seven, eight, nine, ten, jack. I needed the ten. "Three secrets," Spencer said suddenly.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "That's quite a bid, Dr. Reid."

He smiled. "Call?"

I nodded. He flipped the last card. My teeth clenched. It was a six. I had nothing, absolutely nothing. I rolled my eyes and gave up my cards right away. "I don't have a thing." Spencer's smile widened, and I raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

He put his cards down. Spencer had won with a pair of sixes, which meant that during the time he was betting, he had nothing until the last card was flipped. It was complete coincidence that he had won. I looked up at him with my mouth open and scoffed in shock. "How did you know I had nothing?"

He shrugged. "You didn't bet anything; you were so focused on not moving that you didn't realize I could anticipate what you had by how much you bet."

I rolled my eyes and threw my cards at him. "You used profiling, you cheater."

He laughed a bit. "You were doing the same thing."

I pursed my lips. "I'm not ever playing cards with you again."

He nodded and started clearing up the deck off my desk. "So three secrets," he said, glancing up at me.

I narrowed my eyes at him, but leaned forward nonetheless, crossing my arms on the desk. "Alright," I said. "Let me think." I tilted my head and looked at him. What would Spencer Reid find interesting to learn about me? "I'm deathly afraid of heights."

He nodded. "Interesting, I'm afraid of the dark."

I felt my eyebrows rise. "Really? I thought I was the only one sharing secrets."

Spencer shrugged. "I figured I'd cut you some slack since it's your first time."

"Okay," I said, a smile remaining on my face. There wasn't else much I could tell him unless I started going into deeper secrets. So I did. "I'm epileptic."

His smile faltered. "You're prone to seizures?"

I nodded, keeping a small smile on my face. "Been taking medication ever since I was seven," I said.

His arms folded on the desk; Spencer suddenly became a lot more interested. "That's odd; usually it only occurs in younger children or adults over sixty-five."

"I know," I replied. "I've thought about that a lot."

He sighed and thought. "I called doctors from a mental hospital to take my mom in when I was eighteen," he said.

My smile faltered this time. "What for?"

"She's schizophrenic."

My breath caught in my throat for a moment, and I had to swallow hard before replying. "Shelby Hotchner had Schizophrenia," I breathed, referring to my mother in third person. We stayed silent for a moment. Spencer looked at me, and I glanced back at him. "When she killed herself, she left a note behind that said she couldn't stand the voices." I leaned toward him. "Spencer, if you ever think you didn't do the right thing back then… You did."

He didn't say anything for a moment. "You think that if you would have put her in the hospital, she would have lived?"

"I know she would have."

_BANG!_

Spencer and I both jumped up after the door to the BAU hit the wall after being slammed open. Hotch stalked in with Prentiss, Morgan and Rossi following behind. "We missed him," Hotch said, clearly pissed off. Immediately, he headed down to Garcia's office with Morgan in tow.

I turned to Prentiss and Rossi. "What happened?"

"The place was abandoned," said Emily. "He knew we were coming."

I was confused. "How-" I was interrupted by my cell phone suddenly ringing. I gasped a bit and this time, took the extra second to read the caller number. I didn't recognize it, and that made me not want to pick it up. "Hello?"

"_It's your fault._"

I froze. The sound was a voiceover, a disguise of the real voice. Not only did it hide the UNSUB's sound, but it also sounded severely creepy. There was one guess that I had as to who it was, and there was one thing I knew I had to do: keep him talking. "What?" I kicked off my heels onto the floor. Spencer, Prentiss, and Rossi looked at me like I was crazy. I couldn't care at the moment, and I bolted to Garcia's office in bare feet.

"_It was going to be the last one_."

I shoved open the door and put my finger to my lips before anyone in Garcia's office could ask what was going on. I pointed to the phone and mouthed the word "UNSUB." "What do you mean, last one?"

"_Don't be stupid; he died because of you._"

He was talking about Jimmy, of course he was. I watched as Garcia started to trace the call. Hotch urged me to keep him talking, but I didn't know what to say. "I'm not the one who killed him."

"_But you made me do it!_"

I sighed in frustration. "I didn't make you do anything, you bastard!" There were seconds of silence in which Spencer, Prentiss, and Rossi all appeared in the doorway. I put the phone on speaker to hear any reply. There was only one before he hung up.

"_You're next, Bitch._"

The majority of us looked at each other after the click of a hang up. I could see something in my uncle's eyes that suddenly looked like regret and fear. I knew he didn't want me to be on the team; this is what he'd always been afraid of. I felt disappointed, suddenly, in myself. "He got my number from the hospital," I muttered. "I gave it to Jimmy… To call for help."

"Garcia?" Hotch asked, turning back to the numerous computers.

"I got it," she said. She'd been the only one to not look away from the screen.

"And?" he asked.

She turned toward us. "The signal came from inside the BAU."

Everyone seemed to move all at once. Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss, and J.J. went back right away to the bullpen. Garcia, Hotch, Spencer and I remained in Penelope's office. I looked at my uncle, worried. He returned the glance, and I could see his teeth clench, the dent forming in his cheeks. "Stay here," he said.

"Hotch, I-"

"Stay."

My stare hardened. "I'm never going to gain any experience in the field if you don't let me go out there!"

I could always tell when I made my uncle angry, and this was definitely one of those times. "This is not the field; this is the Behavior Analysis Unit offices where everyone is supposed to be safe. You will stay here where he can't find you."

I felt near tears; I felt pathetic, and being near tears made me feel even more pathetic. "I've followed every order you've given me until now! Why can't I just try to confront him?"

"Because _you_ are the reason he's in here, putting the rest of us in danger in the first place!"

I gasped. There was nothing I could do for a moment but stand there, and finally the tears fell. I didn't sob, just stood there. I'd messed up so horribly, and on my first case nonetheless. What could I do now?

I ran.

Spencer caught my wrist on my way out of Garcia's office. He tried to pull me back, and we made eye contact. He looked desperate, and I knew he was about to drag me back. So I let my hand go limp, sliding it from his grasp.

"CHLEO RAE!"

My uncle had never used my middle name before. I could hear he and Spencer running after me. I had to get out, lead the UNSUB away from the others. So I ran into the bullpen and past Emily, Morgan, J.J., and Rossi. Luckily, they hadn't known enough about what was going on to stop me until Hotch and Spencer caught up. By then, I was at the door. Outside, I looked around the parking lot. I didn't want to take the car because that would lead him too far. I just wanted to get him out in the open. So I ran down the street. I figured Hotch was going to fire me anyway, so if I could stop a killer before doing so, then what the hell?

Sure enough, as soon as I got out the doors, a shadowed figure rushed toward me from the opposite side of the parking lot. And as soon as that happened, Hotch and Spencer came bolting out of the BAU. I turned back to the shadowed figure, only to realize he was directly in front of me.

|| Spencer ||

He saw the man bring his hand across her face. Faster than Spencer's ever been, he grabbed his gun out of its holster. Hotch was still quicker. Chleo's cry made him cringe. The man picked her up before she fell and hit her again, then again. What where they supposed to do?

"Let her go!" Hotch ordered. Spencer had never heard him raise his voice like this before. His hands nearly began to tremble on his gun.

The man didn't speak, only held Chleo facing them. She was still conscious, able to stand up on her own. Spencer recalled that the man's name was Craig Bolder. He killed people by beating them to death. Being a medic, he knew enough to realize that as long as Chleo was this close to him, Hotch and Spencer wouldn't shoot. They'd be too afraid of hitting her. He would win, either way, and Chleo would die.

"Come any closer, and I'll kill her," he threatened. There was no other way to do it. Spencer realized that, and he began to think that Hotch did too.

Nevertheless, Spencer looked over at his superior. The hard expression remained on Hotch's face. Spencer remembered what Hotch had told him when he was about to take his qualifications test for carrying a gun. Aim, fire, and follow through. The last thing he'd done was always lower the gun to check if he hit the target. That was a mistake. Spencer took a deep breath. He would just keep hitting her, and he could fight for self-defense if it came to that.

Spencer, aimed, and he fired.

The echo of the gunshot made him jump, and Chleo gasped. It was silent until something hit the ground that Spencer realized his eyes were closed. He opened them, and let out a breath of relief. Chleo was in Hotch's arms, and Bolder was on the ground.

He raced over with shaking hands and put his gun away. "Take her inside," ordered Hotch. Chleo practically fell into Spencer's arms, and he held her up as best he could.

It took a moment before he realized she was crying. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

There was nothing he could say, nothing he felt as if he could say. Then again, "It's okay," he muttered back, his lips against her hair. "You're okay."

Spencer tapped his fingers on his desk. Chleo was called not only to talk to Hotch, but to Strauss as well. It was her first day on the job, and she was probably already going to be fired. Everyone thought it, not just him. Morgan was already pacing back and forth.

"She's going to be a wreck after coming out of there," he said, frustrated. "I know what she did was stupid, but we've all done stupid things. She was just doing what she thought was best for the team. We were all in danger, and she felt at fault. Would any of us have done differently?"

Spencer hardly paid attention. He agreed, but what could they do?

"Strauss doesn't want anyone reckless on the team," said Prentiss.

"Emily, the whole job that we have is reckless. We risk our lives every day," said Spencer, deciding to speak up.

"I'm going up there," Morgan said, determined. He started up the stairs to Strauss's office. Spencer got up and followed him, not to stop him, but more to join. Morgan turned, and Spencer put a hand on his shoulder. He saw J.J. follow the two of them out of the corner of his eye.

|| Chleo ||

I knew it was coming. I'd seen it coming. I deserved it too, but I wanted nothing more than to just walk out of the BAU and never look back right now. Either that, or slap Strauss across her bony face.

"I knew I should have never let you on the team," she said. Both Strauss and my uncle had basically been circling around a chair I was sitting in for the last twenty minutes. I wanted to cry again. I felt like a helpless teenager being grounded. I felt pathetic.

Hotch stayed silent; he didn't agree or disagree, even though I knew his opinion. My hand was already reaching for my badge and gun when the door suddenly opened.

"Excuse me," said Strauss, obviously appalled by the intrusion. I turned to see Spencer, Morgan, and J.J. standing in the doorway.

"We came here to stop you both from making a stupid mistake and firing what could be a great agent," said Morgan. I couldn't help but smile at him, at all of them.

"What Miss Johnson did was reckless and irresponsible-" began Strauss. Spencer interrupted her.

"Technically, the things we do every day here at the FBI can be considered reckless. The first time you were out in the field with us, Emily Prentiss went into a scene with nothing but a gun. She wasn't even an agent then. We risk our lives all the time, and Chleo's intentions were just to protect the rest of us."

I looked between them and Strauss and Hotch. I couldn't say anything. I didn't _want_ to say anything.

Strauss looked at me. I nearly cringed. Her stare was worse than my uncle's. "Get out of here," she ordered.

I got up immediately and followed the others out of the office, exhaling in relief. "You guys didn't have to do that," I said.

"Yes, we did," said Morgan. "Just this once."

I smiled. At least someone thought that I belonged here. I grabbed my purse and threw my badge into it, ready to leave for a weekend I didn't think I deserved.

"Let me drive you home," said Hotch. I swallowed a retort. I didn't want him to.

"No," I said, looking back at him. "My car's here, and I want to stop somewhere first."

"Your car can stay here-"

"No, Uncle Aaron," I shot. "I don't want to hear the lecture that I know you're going to give me about how what I did was stupid. I'm aware of that. I knew it from the beginning. You don't think I didn't realize I'm an idiot the second I was almost beat to a pulp?" I didn't want to argue, really. I wanted to go home and wash my face. I wanted to sleep.

He didn't say anything, only sighed and looked down. "Then have Reid drive you home."

It was a weird request, so weird that I began to grow suspicious of it. Nevertheless, I agreed. "Fine."

Spencer had his bag ready and held his jacket over his left arm. He was just about to leave, probably why Hotch had decided he should take me home. "Where did you want to stop first?" he asked.

I walked past him without saying a direct goodbye to anyone. "I'll tell you on the way."

It was the middle of the night, and we were at a cemetery. I felt kind of bad, considering Spencer had basically just admitted to me that he was afraid of the dark. But I wanted to come here. I did it every weekend when I had the free time. "You can wait here if you want," I offered.

I saw Reid shake his head in the dark, his hands releasing the steering wheel. "That's okay."

"It'll only be a few minutes." I left my purse on the floor of the car and grab a book of matches from it. We both got out of the car, and I led Spencer to a specific grave four rows in, four headstones into that row. The white block in the ground had two names on it. 'Shelby Johnson' and 'Cole Johnson' were printed in curvy letters. Their dates of birth an death were carved underneath. A white candle with a used wick rested on top of the gravestone. I bent down, stuck the match against the box, and lit the candle. Spencer stayed silent through the whole time I sat there and prayed. He only spoke once I stood up.

"Who's Cole Johnson?" he asked, pointing at the one date printed underneath his name.

"That was the third secret I was going to tell you," I muttered. "When I was twenty-two, I was thirty-five weeks pregnant with a baby boy." A lump caught in my throat. "I went to visit my mother, and she had a sort of break down while I was there."

Spencer remained silent for a moment. He moved closer; it was cold. "What happened?"

"She pushed me down the stairs, and I lost him," I whispered.


End file.
